


Asterism

by rosweldrmr



Category: Roswell (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-Season/Series 03 AU, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9231116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosweldrmr/pseuds/rosweldrmr
Summary: There is a rift in time. A fractaling of paths that divide and expand, splitting the multiverse into slivers of a fragmented mirror. The shattered pieces of spacetime are now only loosely held together by splinters of light. They web and branch out, like the tangles of lightning, caught in the night sky. They are seams in the fabric of reality that lead from one universe to the next. Overlaying, like layers of porcelain held together with cracks of gold light. And at the epicenter of the schism is Michael. | Or the one where Michael tries to go back in time to save Alex (and the rest of the world) but ends up accidentally breaking the multiverse. And Liz is the only one who can help him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akafinndameron](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=akafinndameron).



> Written for by [akafinndameron](https://akafinndameron.tumblr.com) for the Roswell Gift Exhcange.

EARTH 2017 (SHOW TIMELINE)

“They’re right behind us!” Michael yells half a step behind Liz. There’s an alarming hint of hysteria in his voice. The smell of melted plastic and burnt flesh makes her gag.

“There's too many of them!” Liz shouts, firing a random blast of energy over her shoulder from her raised palm. She can hear the distinct sound of a body hitting the floor. There was a time in her life when that would have been a hard sound for her to identify. But that was years ago, she realizes. Now she aims for her enemies with a ruthless precision that scares even her.

“Where are they coming from?” Michael asks, pushing her to the side just as a blast of hot electricity flies past them.

“You know where,” she pants and shoves away from the wall, pushing around him to hit two more of them. But there are more already stepping over the bodies to take their place.

“How far is it?” Michael asks.

“The bunker is at the end of this hall,” she answers as they start running. And it kills her to admit it, but she’s actually so, so thankful to Nicholas, of all people, for bringing the Granolith back when he defected. Though, she knows Isabel had a lot to do with that. She’d spent months learning to dreamwalk him, subtly sowing the seeds of discord.

Since it’s been back, the Granolith has been sitting in the basement of some blacklist FBI facility. It’s only in the last few weeks they’ve been able to find it. They’re one step ahead of the Skins, at least. It’s not much, not enough to keep them all alive, but at least she and Michael are still here - still fighting. They are all that’s left, and she already knows they won’t make it out of here any other way but in the Granolith. This was always going to be a one-way trip for her. “We’re almost ther--”

She's cut off when something tears through her side and sends her flying. There's a blinding light accompanied by a pain that eclipses all rational thought.

“Liz!” Michael screams her name. But it feels far away and muted by her own screaming. She realizes she's on the floor; her back is against one of the hallway walls. She can't feel her legs.

She can hear more screaming, but it's not Michael. He's killing them, she realizes. _Good_ , she thinks.

It seems to take a long time for their whimpering to fade. She doesn't know how many he killed, but it’s enough to buy them a few minutes at least. Because the next thing she knows, Michael is touching her face, lifting her cheek to look at him.

“Don't,” she mumbles, trying to pull out of his grasp. But all that does is slump her farther down the wall until he has to lift her up. And the pain that explodes behind her shut eyes when he does is more than she can take. She blacks out.

“Liz,” Michael says and she tries to focus on his voice. “I'm not very good at this. I'm sorry.” Then he kisses her. She wants to tell him not to. She wants to tell him to leave her. She wants to tell him it's a waste of time anyway. But she's barely hanging on as it is. And she realizes the reason she's having trouble sitting up is because her hands and the floor are covered in her own blood.

She's bleeding out. She can taste blood in the kiss.

And then, there is a connection. A spark, a light in the dark. It starts with a small flash. Just Michael as a child. Spiky hair and the back of his dirty shirt as he runs.

It's hardly enough. But she can _feel_ the skin of her side trying to knit back together. She can also feel Michael struggling to control it. He's only managed to successfully heal a few times. So she knows this is taking a toll on him. She also knows it's harder for him to make a connection, hence the kiss.

So as soon as she feels the wound close, she pulls away. She knows it's only half healed. There is still a lot of internal damage. But at least she's not bleeding to death anymore. And that's enough. Enough for what she has to do.

“Shit,” Liz curses. “This isn’t good.” She tries not to think about the way his lips look redder than normal as he helps her to her feet.

“You think?” he heaves from where he leans against the wall next to her. They really are almost there. But the fifty or so dead Skins along the way didn’t go quietly. Both of them are fatigued and injured, though Liz knows she’s worse off than Michael at this point.

“Get to the Granolith,” she says, pulling the Harrington Diamond from her back pocket and offering it to him. And there is this terrible moment where he realizes what she's saying. What she's asking him to do. And it kills her, because she knows that look.

It's the same look she saw the night Max died. They didn't even have time to recover his body, let alone bury him. It's the same look she saw when the royal seal was seared into his chest. The same look she saw when Isabel was pulled from his grasp. The same look when Maria said she was leaving two years ago.

And she hates it. She hates that she's going to be one more person he mourns. One more person he couldn't protect. She doesn't want him to carry any more grief than he already does. But she also knows this is the only way, the only way they have a chance.

Then he says, “I’m not leaving you,” and it breaks her heart. Rath may have been a General, but Michael doesn’t have the stomach for war.

She wishes it was different. She wishes she didn’t have to say goodbye, bloodied and exhausted in a secret government bunker. She wishes she could give him something, say something to make it better. But she can’t. There’s nothing that makes war okay. But as long as he survives, as long as he gets to the Granolith, that’s all that matters. “Take it,” she orders and shoves the gem into his hands. “I’ll handle this,” she says and pushes away from the wall.

“No, Liz--”

“It has to be you,” she cuts him off. She will not let him die now. Not when they’re so close. “You have your job and I have mine.”

“No. No. Please,” he begs, and it breaks her to know what this will do to him. She knows he would gladly trade places with her. And she can see it now, the way his eyes flick between her and the sound of approaching footsteps. He thinks it should be him to die.

“Please, Michael. Just go.” And she can hear it; the resignation in her own voice. She knows he hears it too. The goodbye they don't have time for. The sentiment she doesn't know how to express. The loyalty. The guilt. The gratitude. The grief.

Because she hears it too, when he says, “I'll see you again, Parker.” And her heart breaks. Oh, it feels as real and as visceral as the blast that tore through her side. It's a genuine, tangible, physical ache that makes her clench the blood-soaked fabric of her shirt over her heart.

 _Please_ , she thinks - begs anyone who will listen. _Let this be enough. Let him live. Just let him live._

She doesn't turn to watch him go. She knows there's no point. No point in delaying the inevitable. They need time. She needs to buy him time. And there’s only one way she knows how to do that.

She doesn’t like to kill; none of them do. But right now, she’s the only chance they’ve got. Michael needs to get to the Granolith, and she’s all that’s left.

Ashes hang heavy in the air and she tries not to think about what she's breathing in. Who she's breathing in. She takes a deep breath in through her mouth, and takes a step toward the center of the hall.

She grounds her feet and squares her shoulders. She is ready. Even if the simple act of breathing makes her wince, she will not allow the pain to take control.

They are close now. There’s at least thirty of them, all packed into the long corridor between the elevator and the bunker.

There is already a thin layer of Husk ash on her clothes from when she and Michael made it to the elevator. She’d burned them up, just like Tess had done so many years ago in the high school. But that trick only worked once, twice at most. It required too much energy to heat up the molecules in the air in a large, open space. And she is barely standing.

She’s lost a lot of blood, she realizes. Too much. The way her thoughts feel like they’re veiled in a fog, and her extremities are getting cold. Her movements are sloppy and uncoordinated, and she has to force herself to remember what she needs to do.

“Fire,” she reminds herself and raises her hand, pulling the wound on her side and making her see stars. But she doesn't stop. She bites back a cry of pain and focuses all her physical and mental strength into the single act of controlling the speed at which the atoms of the air in the hallway vibrate against each other.

She holds her breath and thinks, _Move!_ with all her might. She wills the atoms to speed up. And the resulting friction heats the air around her.

Sweat drips down her face, in her eyes, washing away the ash and blood that’s caked on. But she doesn’t relent. She can’t. She won’t. This would be easier if she had an incendiary device: a lighter, matches, anything that could burn. But she lost both of her fire sources already. So she’s going to have to do this the hard way. She will increase the temperature of the air so much that it will spontaneously combust.

“It’s her!” she hears one of the Skins shout from where they’ve emerged from around the corner of the elevator bay. She can’t see any of them clearly though. Already the air in the hallway is hot enough to make their shapes ripple like a mirage. Vaguely, she thinks of the day she got married. The way the road ahead of them seemed to roil and undulate in the hot New Mexican sun.

“You’re too late!” she announces, and is surprised how strong her voice sounds. “We’ll destroy the Granolith before we let Kivar have it again!”

“You’re just a human!” someone shouts, and she thinks she might recognize their voice. He’s the one who killed Max.

“Oh, I’m much more than that,” she says before she closes her eyes and shuts them out. Instead, she calls to mind the memory of watching Max take his last breath, cradled in her arms. The image of Isabel splintering apart in the blinding light of an energy blast. Of Kyle screaming her name when he was dragged away a week ago. And she uses it, takes all that rage and hate and funnels it into her powers. She channels the force of her destruction through the conduit of her hand and dispels it into the charged air of the hall.

She takes one final breath before opening her eyes. Because even if she doesn’t like to kill, she will not allow herself to look away. “Burn,” she commands and they do.

Their artificial husks ignite like oil-soaked paper. They are crammed into the hallway, practically on top of each other, trying to run. They flee from her, from her fire, like cockroaches in the light. They’re scared of her.

“Good,” she says, projecting the burning air outward, disintegrating them as she does, “you should be scared of me.[1]”

When the last of them is nothing but a pile of ash, she finally relinquishes the heat. And she has just enough energy left to command the molecules around her to slow and cool. The fire is snuffed out, finally burning through all the oxygen in the hall ahead of her. Only her last-second shield has stopped the fire from burning her up too. Good thing too, because the damage is extensive. The concrete of the floor glows orange and forms molten puddles. The walls have melted down to the steel beams that support the underground base, and even they glow amber on the edges.

 _It’s over,_ she thinks, letting herself sag and nearly collapse to the floor. Her knees hit hard enough to make her cry out. And her last thought, before the darkness takes her, is of Michael. _I hope he made it_ , she thinks.

\--

Liz wakes up inside the Granolith chamber. She’s propped up against one of the walls; Michael’s bloodied jacket is draped over her legs. “Why did you come back for me?” she asks, without even bothering to find him in the room. Her mouth is dry, like there are cotton balls in her cheeks.

“You’re welcome,” he calls, leaning around from the far side of the chamber, on the other side of the dark cone that hangs from the ceiling. He’s crouched down, doing something with the ignition cone that comes up from the floor.

“I’m going to cease to exist in a few minutes anyway,” she mumbles.

“Liz--”

“No,” she cuts him off and swipes a tear off her cheek in anger. “It’s fine. Really. I’m fine. You should have just--”

“I couldn’t leave you there,” he says softly, not meeting her eyes, and she can’t bring herself to argue back. “It didn’t seem right, leaving you like that. It’s fine now. I sealed the door.”

“Did you adjust the start sequence?” she asks, trying to breathe around the lump that’s formed in her throat. She doesn’t have time to dwell on what he said, on the way he looked so lost and young when he thought about her dying in some nondescript government facility hallway, surrounded by the ashes of the aliens she burned alive. She doesn’t have time for any of it.

“Just like you showed me,” he smiles and she can’t help but smile too. He’s so proud of himself for remembering what she taught him.

“That should bypass the 24 countdown Max--” But her voice dies in the middle of his name. “The 24 countdown we experienced last time,” she finishes, looking down at her hands, but she can feel his eyes on her.

“So, I just need to insert the diamond and…” Michael lets his voice trail off and Liz tries not to think about how she is going to die in a few minutes. “Why can’t you come with me?” he asks suddenly, and sounds so adamant that Liz can’t help but meet his gaze.

“You know why,” she says softly. They’ve had this conversation at least fifty times over the past week and a half. Ever since Max was killed. The day the royal seal transferred to him.

“I know only the royal seal can activate it. But Max sent Tess. Why couldn’t I send you?”

She shrugs. “What does it matter, Michael? If we do this right, neither of us will exist anymore.”

“It’s not fair!” Michael says, balling his fists against the instrument panel of the ignition cone. And there is something so young about the gesture that Liz can almost see his long shaggy hair instead of the buzz cut he’s worn for years now. It reminds her of another time, another life.

“None of this is,” Liz says and slowly gets to her feet. Her chest aches and her side still burns, but she can see that Michael fully healed her while she was unconscious. “You never asked to be reborn, just like I never asked to be the time travel ambassador. But, that’s life,” she shrugs and kneels down next to him. “Things happen.” And there is something taking root in her, a calm she didn’t think she had. Maybe it’s because she knows another version of herself has already done this before. Or maybe because there’s nothing more she _can_ do. Her job is done now. Or maybe because, despite everything, she knows Michael. And she knows this is what he needs. He needs her to be strong because she knows it’s breaking his heart to do this to her again.

“I saw what you went through the first time, how much pain you were in. And now I have to go back and put even more on you? Why you? Why not Maria or Alex or Kyle? Why not Isabel or Max?”

“Please, Michael. We’ve been over this. You know why it has to be me.”

“But it’s not fair! Max already asked you to give up everything for us. He’s already messed with your life so much. Can’t I just send you back instead? I would listen to you. You know what to say. It could work. You know it could.”

And it’s true, it could work. If it weren’t for the fact that Liz was human, and the trip would likely kill her. The Granolith wasn’t made for humans, and she knows it. “It makes the most sense. I already know about time travel. I already know about Max and Tess. I’m the closest to Ava. Maria would freak out, and Alex may already be under Tess’s control. Kyle hates all of you at this point, and Isabel is struggling with her own past. You could go to Max, but that would risk you running into Tess. And she could mindwarp you into forgetting, or kill you. No, it has to be you that goes back, because I might not survive. And it has to be me you go to because I’m the one who will help.”

“But--”

“Michael, please,” Liz begs. She takes his hand in both of hers and looks him directly in the eyes. “Please don’t make me convince you again. It’s hard enough, knowing what I’m sending you back to do. Please don’t make me try this hard to die.” At her words, his eyes dart away, like he can’t bear to look at her when she says it. And she doesn’t blame him. She can’t imagine what she looks like, on her knees, begging for death. “You don’t think I want to live? You don’t think I want to take the Granolith and just run? But you know better than anyone we can’t. We need to stop Kivar, and this is the only way. Future Max had the right idea, he just got the wrong person. Tess was always going to turn against you. Nessado brainwashed her since she was a kid to betray you all. It wasn’t Tess we needed. It was Ava. It’s always been Ava. And now you and I, right here, right now, we have a chance to set things right. We have this one chance to fix this. To save Alex, to save Max and Isabel and everyone else. So I’m asking you, please,” she says again, reaching out to touch his face. “Please do this. For me. For us. For the world. You’re the only one who can.” When he finally lifts his eyes to look at her, she knows what he needs to hear. “I trust you.”

“When did you get so good at this?” he asks, closing his eyes so she won’t see the way he fights back tears. But she already knows. She knows him better than anyone at this point. Being on the losing end of a war will do that.

“Around the same time you became King,” she says softly and squeezes his cheek. “You should go now. There’s no point in staying here any longer.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. But before Liz can ask what for, he kisses her. His lips are cold and it’s over too soon, but when Liz opens her eyes to find Michael inside the Granolith cone, she can still feel the ghost of his lips pressed against hers. That’s the second time he’s kissed her today.

“I’m not,” she says, not even bothering to keep the tears from falling. There’s no point now. “You can change it, change all of it,” Liz says softly and lays her hand against the cool, smooth surface of the Granolith.

“It’ll be different this time,” Michael promises and it’s the only time she’s ever seen him cry. Not even when Max and Isabel died. They were too busy trying to stay alive and make it here, she supposes. But now, with nothing left for him to do but focus on the point in time he wishes to go back to, the tears finally come.

“It better be! I don’t want to die for nothing.” And she smiles through her own tears. She knows it’s what he needs. She wishes she could hug him now, but it’s too late. Too late for so many things.

\--

Michael is suspended inside the Granolith. Not exactly floating, as he can’t really feel _anything_. It’s strange, to not feel air against his skin, or the earth below his feet. There are just the tears on his cheeks and the memory of the way Liz leaned into the kiss.

And now, it’s over. It’s all over. This life. Him. Her. This world, this Earth. If they’re right, it will be replaced by another world, a better one. One where Alex lived to his eighteenth birthday. One where Tess never stole Max’s son. One where they aren’t being hunted yet.

Liz turns suddenly at the sound of something crashing into the door of the chamber. Someone is trying to get in. “Go, now,” she insists, just before her hand falls away. He wishes he could reach out, that he could save her from what’s about to come.

She turns her back to him, raising her hand in defense. And suspended in the strange void of the Granolith he can see sealed door explodes into the chamber. On instincts alone, he shields his face, but not even the concussive force of the blast can reach him. Through the thick cloud of smoke, three Skins force their way into the small room. Liz is on her back, next to the cone. She’s bleeding from her ears and he knows that the blast must have caused internal damage. But even if she weren’t injured, they’re on her faster than she can react.

“No!” Michael shouts over the sound of the Granolith. He only has a few moments left.

“Exit the Hold immediately, or the human dies!” one of the meaty Skins shout, yanking Liz’s head back to make his point.

“No, Michael.” Liz coughs up blood. “Go. Go now!” she screams and raises her hand as if she means to fight them off. But she’s so weak. She’s no match for them.

And Michael watches in horror as one of the others reach out to touch her temple.

And just like that, she is gone.

Her body goes limp, her arms drop like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Her eyes are still open, but he already knows. Liz is dead. “No!” he screams and tries to reach for her, but stuck in the - what had the guy called it, the Hold? - he can’t move. Trapped, helpless, Michael can only watch her die.

And there is something inside him that catches at the sight. It’s a memory of another life, he realizes. One he’s never experienced before. And like in the past, the few times he’s remembered his previous incarnation, it isn’t just a memory. It's a vision. It feels like he's inhabiting someone else’s body. Like he isn't just remembering it. He's reliving it. He’s never seen Antar with such clarity before.

He watches, just like he did tonight, as Liz dies. Only this time he watches as she is stabbed. His arms and legs are bound, and he rages against the chains that hold him. But he can’t get to her. But this isn't Earth. He would know the architecture of the Palace anywhere. Its gilded columns that rise into a cavernous room. Even the air feels different.

So he knows this is Antar. He knows the color of the court dress she's wearing. He's seen the same seal a hundred times in the mirror over the past week. She is a member of the royal court.

“All ladies of the court belong to the King,” a voice says from the shadows. “Shame on you for taking something that doesn't belong to you,” he tisks.

But how can it be Liz? How can he be so sure? She isn't even human. And yet… and yet, he knows it's her. He knows because of the way she looks at him as she's dying. It's the same way she looked at him in that hallway today, right before she shoved the diamond in his hand and took out an entire contingent of Skins. It was the same way she looked at him just a second ago, before she died. He would know those eyes anywhere, in any form. There is no doubt. Liz was on Antar with them.

“Rath,” she whispers brokenly.

“Lithara,” he sobs. And Michael, independent from the vision, knows this isn't right. But Rath, Grand General of the Antarian Royal Forces, only knows the pain of watching his lover die.

Then the vision is gone, lost to the clenching he feels in his gut. The Granolith is launching.

But he's too turned around to make sense of what this means. He isn't focused like he's supposed to be. He needs to get back to Roswell, just after Future Max leaves but before they head to Copper Summit the next day. But all he can think about is Liz on Antar.

And he feels himself splinter. It's a pain like no other. Like he is being cleaved in two, and halved again, and again. He is being fragmented. Torn apart and hurled through time.

Something is very wrong.

\--

There is a rift in time. A fractaling of paths that divide and expand, splitting the multiverse into slivers of a fragmented mirror. The shattered pieces of spacetime are now only loosely held together by splinters of light. They web and branch out, like the tangles of lightning, caught in the night sky.[2]

They are seams in the fabric of reality that lead from one universe to the next. Overlaying, like layers of porcelain held together with cracks of gold light.[3]

And at the epicenter of the schism is Michael.

At the exact second the Granolith punctured spacetime, intending to send him back to a fixed point, Michael is thinking of his past life. It is a temporal anomaly. The result of which is a fissure that permeates not only the target timeline, but all others as well. They are currents through which time flows, like water through a sieve, dragging him along in their wake.

His path is fractured. Instead of traveling from one point to another, all that he is (mind, body, soul) is mangled from the tide of the infinite. He exists simultaneously as every alternate version of himself. Every choice, every possibility, every maybe, every what if exists. And he is being pulled between them, bouncing from one impossibility to the next. He is stuck in a loop, trapped between time, torn from world after world after world, forced to exist in limbo, experiencing both everything and nothing.

And it won’t last. It can’t. Michael is going to rive the whole of existence, unless he can figure out a way to stop it, to sew up the scraps of the multiverse.

* * *

EARTH 2014 - 25 MINUTES BEFORE THE FALL (FUTURE MAX TIMELINE)

“Get down!” Michael screams and tackles Liz to the ground. She grunts under his weight but doesn't protest. “You need to get Max to the Granolith. This is our only chance.”

“What--”

“Go!” Michael screams, lifting her up to stand and shoving her down the cave path. “It's up to you now.”

“No, Michael! We won't leave you!” Liz shouts, but it's swallowed up by the sounds of an explosion.

“Liz, please,” he begs and watches the agony in her face with a strange sense of detachment. This is the end. He can do this. He can protect them. This is what he was made for. “I'll buy you as much time as I can.”

“I was lucky,” she rushes out and throws herself into his arms. “To have a friend like you, Michael Guerin.” She kisses his cheek and then she's gone. Running full speed down the cave, towards the Granolith.

“Liz,” Michael wheezes her name and he could swear he feels an ache at the sound of it. But there's something else. Something in the back of his mind. Like something he's forgotten. A dream that slips away.

It's just a feeling, like something is wrong.

But he doesn't have the luxury of time to examine the feeling. He only has a few seconds before he's overrun with Skins. They barrel down the cave walkway like a wave. In a second he will be dead.

But not before he takes out a few of them.

\--

“Where's Michael?” Max asks as soon as Liz spots him up ahead.

She's already sobbing. “He's gone,” she cries.

“What?”

“He told me to go. He said he'd buy us some time. He's gone, Max. It's up to us now.”

“No!” Max roars and heads straight back the way they'd come. She knows him well enough to know he'll never be able to go without seeing Michael for himself. But she can't move. She can't bring herself to look at one more body.

She's going to cease to exist in a few minutes anyway. What good would it do to see Michael's scorched, mangled body? Even if it's only for a few more minutes, that's not the way she wants to remember him.

She wants to remember him the way he was when he sent her away. Strong, proud, in control. It seems better. And she is so very tired of death. So she waits for Max to come back. He has to. He's the only shot they've got.

\--

There is a ringing in Michael’s ears that won't stop. He feels like he's trapped inside the dome of a bell.

“Michael,” Max whispers hoarsely as he kneels down next to him.

He's dying. He knows he is. This is where he dies. He remembers that, from somewhere. How could he remember that though?

“I'm dying,” he tells Max and coughs up a mouthful of blood.

“No, you're going to be fine,” Max insists.

“You have to go,” Michael says. “Liz is expecting you.”

“I can heal you.”

“No, Maxwell, you can't. Or you don't. I'm not sure.”

“What are you talking about?” Max asks and shakes Michael to keep him awake. “Look at me.”

“She's all alone,” Michael reminds him. “She needs you.”

“She's fine,” Max reassures him.

“No, she's just a girl. She's only sixteen. And she's given up so much already. She doesn't deserve this. Max, she shouldn't be involved in any of this. Go back to before she was shot. Stop this, stop all of it.”

“It doesn't work like that. You know it doesn't. I can't just pick a time. The fissure is a set point in time. It has to be then,” Max explains and Michael feels strange.

Did he know that? Does he know it? Something isn’t right. He is not himself. He's Michael, but not the right one. “I'm not me,” he tries to tell Max. But the pain makes it hard to think.

He needs to warn them, tell them what's coming. But he can't. God, it hurts so much. Like he's being split into pieces. He's dying. Oh god, he's going to die.

He needs to get back to his time. Back to his Liz. Back to when he was himself and he wasn't torn into percentages of probability. He needs to put himself back together.

But he can't. He can't. He can't even remember how he got here or why it hurts so much.

He takes one last sputtering breath before he goes still.

He needs to get back.

* * *

ANTAR 1947 - THE FALL (PRE SHOW TIMELINE)

“Shame on you for taking something that doesn't belong to you,” Nicholas tisks.

“Rath,” she cries softly.

“Lithara,” Michael sobs. He pulls against his chains, but they don’t budge.

He watches her die. He watches the light leave her eyes and he is filled with an unimaginable rage.

 _Not again_ , he thinks. Not again, not again, not again.

“Pity,” Nicholas shrugs. “She was so pretty.” He reaches out slowly, touching her face in a mockery of sympathy.

“Don’t touch her!” Rath screams, pulling so hard against his restraints that he feels the links begin to give just slightly.

“It’s too bad you won’t get to see the fall,” Nicholas taunts. “I really wanted see the look on your face when it all came crashing down.”

He doesn’t see the blade when it comes. He is still staring at her. Her eyes are still open and he thinks, maybe, it’s just a nightmare. And as the pain comes, he is strangely removed. As if there is something else… something he’s forgotten. He wonders what could be more important than dying.

“Rath,” Vilandra says, finally stepping from the shadows. “If only you’d listened.”

“I have to go,” he tells her. But she just frowns and shakes her head.

“You’re dying,” she tells him, as if he didn’t already know. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes and it’s strange because he thinks she actually means it. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

“You’re not the only one who was in love,” he tells her and feels weak. But he can’t die. Not yet.

There’s somewhere he’s supposed to be.

* * *

EARTH 2006 (ALTERNATE TIMELINE)

“Happy birthday!” Isabel says and Michael can see how happy it makes her to be in charge of this party. She’s having way too much fun.

Alex, on the other hand, looks intensely uncomfortable.

“One time!” he declares, throwing up his hand. “It was one time!”

“But it was memorable,” Maria points out.

“Come on, Alex. You can’t just expect us to forget about the stripper-gram.”

“Where did you even get this many pictures of it?” Alex laments and Michael can’t help himself anymore. He bursts into laughter. The poor guy looks so defeated.

“You can thank your girlfriend for that one. Photoshop’s got nothing on her.”

“Ugh,” Alex moans, running his hands over his face.

“Happy b-day, man. Don’t drink too much. I’m not carrying you home this time.” Michael jokes and Alex laughs.

“Please, I’m much older and wiser now. I’ve learned so much since then.”

“Stay hydrated,” Maria chimes in and hands him a bottle of water.

“I get it,” Alex calls as the rest of the group head for the food table. “Give Alex a hard time because it’s his birthday. Ha ha, very funny. I’ll only turn twenty-three once, you know. You should all be a little nicer to me!”

And something about what he’s said makes Michael stop. He’s mid-step, headed for a plate of nachos, when he is overcome by the most intense wave of grief. He turns back to look at Alex. He’s smiling and strapping on one of the stripper police hats Isabel bought for photo props. And Michael feels something like pain in his chest at the sight. It almost feels like he’s watching a ghost, he thinks.

“You okay?” Liz asks, her hand resting on his arm. “You looked… sad.”

“Fine,” he clears his throat and pulls away from her. “I was just thinking about high school.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Liz says because she knows ‘high school’ is code for ‘Max’ in his world. It’d been a few years since Max and Tess went back to Antar.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Fine,” he says, more to himself that her. He rubs at the spot on his chest that burns sometimes. And he feels like he’s missing something. Like there’s an appointment he forgot to keep. It’s fleeting, and in a few seconds he’s back to the party, giving Alex a hard time about his ‘chicken legs’ as Maria calls them.

* * *

ANTAR 1940 (ALTERNATE TIMELINE)

A chorus of ‘All hail the King’ rings throughout the kingdom. They gather outside the palace walls to offer their congratulations.

And at the center of it, Rath sits on the golden throne, uncontested and adored.

“May your house rule with strength and compassion.” One of the ladies of the court bows and gives her quiet blessing. And something about her catches his eye. The way she moves, the way she looks at him. He feels like he’s seen her before. But he knows that’s not possible. He exiled all of the former court when Zan was ousted in disgrace.

\--

“Call for her,” he tells a servant as he heads for his private chamber. He doesn’t need to say anymore; they know who he means. Lithara has become the most favored of all the court ladies.

He waits for her to come, though he never has to wait long. Her chambers are not far from his. He had seen to that. She enters silently; the burnt orange of the sky frames her silhouette. And even cast in darkness, she is beautiful.

“To whom do you belong?” he asks as he bids her come closer, as is customary for their nights together.

“Your Majesty, the King,” she answers softly.

“To whom do I belong?” he asks once she is close enough to touch.

“Me, sire.” And she smiles. And Michael thanks all the ancestors that he’s found her. In all his lives, in all the worlds, she is beside him. She is with him. “Rath?” she asks, touching his face. “Where did you go?”

“Nowhere,” he insists. Though the strange thoughts that sometimes come to him when he is with her seem to be getting stronger. He could swear he was another person, sometimes. All pink flesh and long limbs, a repulsive creature he knows better than to speak of.

Sometimes he wonders if the other world is a memory.

“It’s happening again, isn’t it?” She worries for him and he knows better than to lie.

“I feel worn, stretched. Sometimes I forget who I’m supposed to be.”

“It’s the stress of rule,” she reassures him. “Shall I ask the clerics to make ready the Granolith?” she asks, and he sees the worry in her face.

“No,” he insists and pulls her to him. “I don’t feel like praying tonight.”

She is his only comfort, his constant companion. If it were not for the shortcomings of her birth, he would have wed her already.

* * *

EARTH 2033 (ALTERNATE TIMELINE)

“Dr. Parker, do you have a minute?” an overworked underclassman asks, poking their head into Liz’s office.

“For you, I have three,” Liz jokes and pushes her reading glasses up to sit on her head. She’s still getting used to them.

“I had a question about your book.” They proceed to pull a worn copy of her first book from their bag.

“That old thing?” she jokes. It’s been awhile since she’s seen a student with it. It’d been revised out of standard reading more than seven years ago. Not since NASA’s Ares missions to Mars were greenlit by Congress. There is just so much more data on EM drives nowadays; her book is woefully out of date.

“ _The Science of the Impossible_ is still required reading for exobiology majors,” they explain.

“I didn’t realize,” she says thoughtfully. “I’ll have to thank Dr. Kim for still including me.”

\--

“A student came to see me today,” Liz tells Maria over dinner that night. “They had a copy of my old book. Apparently, they’re reaching the ‘science of the impossible’ in exobiology these days.”

“Well, took them long enough,” Maria jokes.

“How long do you think it will take?” Liz wonders.

“Not in our lifetime,” Michael says coming out of the kitchen, juggling three wine glasses. “Here,” he says, sitting one in front of his wife and the other in front of Liz.

“Really?” Maria asks.

“Maybe our children’s lifetimes,” Michael further predicts and Liz has to think about that.

She takes a sip of her wine and leans back in her seat, full from dinner. It seems sad, such a waste for no one but their family to know about the existence of aliens. It seems like something NASA, at least, should be aware of. Though, knowing the FBI, she was sure _someone_ over there knew.

She was just glad that Tess’s sacrifice seemed to be enough to keep them safe long enough to settle down and have families of their own. Though, they all knew it wouldn’t last forever. Someday they would need to be prepared for a fight. Them or their children, or their children’s children. Someday their enemies would return to Earth, and when they did - the descendants of the Royal Four needed to be ready.

\--

Liz is quiet tonight, lost in thought. She swirls her wine in her glass and takes small sips. Not for the first time, Michael wonders what it must be like inside her head. What does she think about when she gets quiet and withdrew like this?

Even though they’ve been friends for more than 30 years, sometimes he looks at her and feels a swell of fear. Like he is remembering something terrible is about to happen.

Even gray hair hasn’t dulled his paranoia, Maria likes to say. It’s nothing; he knows that. But sometimes, like tonight, he feels like something is coming. Like a hurricane blowing in, he knows they have to be prepared.

Tomorrow he will call his daughter, just to check in. Maria hates it when he bugs the kids about ‘International Affairs’ (as she liked to call it), but she never protests too much. She knew someday it might save their kids’ lives.

* * *

There are more. Millions. Millions of millions. They all expand and open and move so quickly, he isn’t sure how much more he can take.

And independent of all the timelines exists yet another Michael. One that remembers everything. Every world, every life, every possibility. He watches it all. Watches the lives he could have lived play out like a show. He watches himself die and live and love. He watches the paths he could have taken, the ones he did, the ones he won’t. He sees it all.

And he struggles to contain it. There is just too much. Too much life. Too many memories. Too many worlds, too many endings.

He watches the fractures of light in the universe expand. He watches them splinter out, like a creeping crack in marble, slowly overtaking the dark.

And when he is almost entirely engulfed in light, nothing but fissures holding the multiverse together, he casts his mind out. Reaches for the only person capable of solving this.

He reaches out to Liz.

Every version of Liz. In every universe, in every timeline. He calls to her.

\--

“Help,” he begs.

“We won’t leave you,” Liz insists in the cave on their way to get Max to the Granolith.

“Help,” Michael asks.

“What?” she asks, the fear already clearly written in her expression.

“Liz, please,” he insists, reaching for her.

* * *

“Rath,” Lithara gasps. She is dying on Antar and he’s chained to a pillar.

“Help,” Michael says instead of whispering her name and it’s insane. How could she help him? She’s dying. “Liz.”

“Who’s Liz?” Nicholas asks. But Rath ignores him.

“Help me, please,” he begs of his dying lover.

* * *

“You okay?” Liz asks him at Alex’s birthday party. She looks worried.

“Help,” Michael says, dropping his drink and grabbing her wrist.

“Michael, what’s wrong?”

“Time,” he says, trying to force it out. “Rift in time.”

“What?” she asks frantically. The others have started to notice and are coming over.

“Liz, I need your help. Time is unraveling.” He holds on to her, as if physical touch would be enough to keep him from being flung to another universe. But he can’t stop it. He can’t fight it. One after another, he is snapped from one timeline to the next. He can’t ground himself. All he can do is ask for help.

Over and over again.

* * *

“Rath?” Lithara asks, touching his face. “Where did you go?”

“Help,” Michael begs and he knows he shouldn’t. He knows he is King in this universe. But he does it anyway. He needs her. In all worlds. In all timelines. He needs her.

* * *

“How long do you think it will take?” Liz asks; her reading glasses are still on her head. He wonders if she even notices.

He gathers up the wine glasses and heads for the dining room when he is overcome with an unimaginable compulsion.

“Help,” he says, dropping the wine glasses. They shatter, leaving red stains on his pants. He steps on the broken glass, shattering it in the treads of his shoes.

“Oh my god, Michael, what--”

“Liz, help!” he screams, cutting Maria off. He feels himself being torn, being split. He is being divided and separated from himself. “Please,” he whispers, stumbling towards two sets of terrified eyes.

* * *

Liz is lost in darkness.

She is waiting for something.

In the void, there is a voice. “Help,” Michael says and she nearly collapses with relief.

“Michael?” she calls, trying to reach through the dark. “Are you there?”

“Where are you?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Can you see?” Michael asks and Liz squints, trying to see any light she can. But there is nothing. Only black.

“It’s too dark. I can’t see anything.”

“I’m coming to you.”

“I don’t understand. One minute I was in the Granolith and the next, I was here.”

“Close your eyes,” he instructs and she doesn’t understand why.

“But it’s already so dark,” she tells him.

“I’m bringing the light.”

A few seconds pass and there is no change. She’s not even sure where she is. How can it be so dark? Had something gone wrong with the Granolith? Had Max succeeded in going back? Were they buried underground? What did he mean he was bringing the light?

But her questions only last long as a few beats of her heart.

The light begins as a dot. Small and in the distance. But as she watches, it grows larger and brighter by the second. Until she has to close her eyes and turn away. Until she’s surrounded by it, bathed in it. And it’s more than she can take. She holds her palms against her eyes, trying to block it out.

“Liz,” Michael says her name and she feels his hand on her arm. “I need your help.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will,” he promises and hugs her. And she thinks it's weird, the way he holds her so tightly. Something must be wrong.

\--

She is small in his arms. Just as she had been all those times before. He remembers all of them. Every kiss, every embrace, every time he watched her die. He feels it all come rushing back to him, like air expanding to fill a vacuum. It happens with alarming speed and force.

“You are a paradox,” he tells her.

“What--”

“It happened that first time. The first time Max traveled back in time. He didn’t just leave you behind. He caused a rift in spacetime. He stranded you here. He created this place.”

“But how?” She shakes her head against his chest and he feels the words come to him, as being shouted across a great ravine.

“What do you think happens to someone who’s standing next to the thing that can create a tear in spacetime?” he asks and he hears her inhale sharply. “You exist outside of time.”

“Where are we?” she asks again, only this time he knows she understands the magnitude of that question.

“We are in the breach.”

“How did you get here?” she asks.

“I followed you,” he says.

“How did I get here?” she asks instead.

“Quantum Entanglement.”

\--

There is something absolutely impossible about hearing Michael say the words ‘quantum entanglement’ with no hint of irony whatsoever.

“You are bound to the Granolith,” he answers and Liz feels as if something is slipping into place inside her.

How long had she existed in this place before he came? Was she even alive? How could she exist outside of time? And yet… she can feel it. There is something inside her, something ancient and holy. Something more than herself. Something that clings to her, drapes over her like a heavy cloak.

And it's growing.

“Who are you?” she asks and tries to pull away.

“I'm him,” he answers and for some reason it sounds right.

“Which one?” she asks and feels like she's standing on a precipice.

“All of them,” he says and she knows he's right.

“Why did you come?”

“You sent me.”

Liz feels like she fraying. Like she is coming apart. The more he tells her, the worse she feels. Like she's past the edge now; she can't see it yet.

Too late to stop. Too late to turn back. She has nowhere left to go but forward. “You splintered time,” she feels the answer come to her. “I sent you to get me.”

“The cracks are spreading. You need to close the rifts.”

“No,” she says softly, pulling away from him. “I am more than this. I am more than me.” She doesn't need to see to know what lies beyond the light. She already knows. The same way he does. The same way she knows he is Michael. In all forms. In all worlds. In all ways, he is Michael.

And she is Liz. She is Liz Parker, and she is part of this.

She can see it all in her mind. Like a roadmap laid out before her. She sees each twist, each branch, each fork[4] in the road. She only has to let it in. Let the thrumming, beating, pulsing light into her.

And together, she and the light, will become.

Together, they are alive.

Her core burns, churning like storm-tossed waves. The light expands and spreads past swirling galaxies and brilliant collapsing stars; it touches every corner of the multiverse. There is nowhere they cannot reach.

\--

“I will repair what has been broken,” she says from somewhere beyond him.

With a violence he scarcely has time to process, he feels the light that accompanied him into the void coalesce and drive into the heart of her. The light that came from the cracks in time, she takes it into herself.

Now, without the blinding, scorching light, Michael is finally able to open his eyes. What he sees is Liz. The silhouette of her, framed against distant flecks of light. Her head is haloed in starlight and he thinks it suits her. To be among the cosmos. Like to like.

The only trace of the light that still persists is in her eyes. They shine like moons, like a statue that's been hollowed out and filled with light. And as he watches, he begins to see tiny cracks forming in her skin. Down her neck, across her cheek, up her arm. The light begins to seep out.[5]

She is so bright now. Like the reflection of light off glass.[6] He can’t bring himself to look away.

He fears she will shatter to pieces before his eyes.

\--

Liz can See now. She understands. Following the gaps in time, she moves through space, filling each crack, stitching reality back together.

“Liz?” Michael asks and there is something precious about the way he says her name. A steadiness in his voice as he edges towards her.[7]

“I can See now[8],” she says and looks through him. “ _I_ am the Granolith,” she explains and it's sad to see the pain he will feel, when he comes to know the truth of it. She doesn't tell him that he was born angry, with too many teeth. [9]

“What?”

“I create myself. A holy relic, worshiped by a Coalition of Worlds. I take the royal seal…” Liz raises her hand and the five-star constellation manifests on Michael’s chest at her provocation. He hisses in pain, but she simply pulls it from him, delineating the pattern of her origin from his skin. “…and hang it in the night sky of every world.” She flings the constellation into the cosmos. She starts the trail that will lead her back to herself.[10]

“What is it?” he asks.

“An asterism,[11]” she explains. “A pattern of stars. A constellation. They will remind me who I am.”

“What have you done?” he whispers, and there is terror in his voice.

“I am eternal,” she answers. The shell of her mortal body struggles to contain all that she is. But she is unafraid. She is so much more than skin and bones now.

“Liz, you have to stop. Please. You're going to burn!” Michael calls but she is not Liz. She is the Granolith. She is ageless. She is the manifestation of the energy required to shatter the multiverse.

She chooses to burn.[12]

\--

“I can see the whole of time and space. Every single atom of my existence, and I divide them.”

Michael watches helplessly as Liz spreads her fingers, and the light inside her comes rushing out. Tiny balls of light[13] that coat the cracks in space, sealing them like gold lacquer gluing together pieces of broken pottery.[14]

She pours herself, all the light within her, into the voids.

She is planting herself in every timeline, a guardian of the Granolith. He feels the shift in the memories of every universe.

She is inhabiting her own alternate versions. Not as he had done, not how it pulled and tugged at him, like a rowboat in a storm. She is inventing herself, scattering the trail of her creation in each universe. A trail, leading her back to this, to now. To her birth. Because the Granolith isn’t just a ship. It’s not a machine. It’s alive, and it’s made of unimaginable power and a girl too stubborn to give up.

* * *

Liz stands apart; the broken circle of healing before her feels strange. Like a dream.

But she hadn't drunk from the bowl. She'd been too scared. She froze. She doesn’t belong here. She isn’t supposed to be a part of the ritual.

Why is she trembling?

And she has the strangest feeling that she's been placed here. Purposefully. As if she is part of a bigger pattern.

She watches as the others embrace Michael. And she knows this is where she belongs.

* * *

Liz can feel them; they sing. The stones. She feels them in her mind, swimming through her thoughts like a fever dream.

She feels them calling to her. She has to find them.

There is something pushing her, filling her, swelling like a wave. She feels like she might die if they stop now.

She kisses Max and allows herself to get lost in the visions.

She sees stars and galaxies bright like the morning sun. She should look away. It burns to see; they are so near. But she can't bring herself to look away.

This is her choice. She is a part of something.

She sees the ‘V’ constellation again and feels the whole world tremble.

* * *

“Just stop, okay?” Liz says and even though he looks like a completely different person, there is this moment where he looks at her - really looks, and he seems to understand that this is not okay. This is crossing a very real line that there’s no recovering from.

“Alright,” he concedes. And when he looks at her like that, she’s not sure what to do. “You got me. I just… I just wanted to see, you know, if you'd go for it, and you…”

“No,” she insists. “It's not gonna happen… ever.”

“Of course not,” he mutters half a second before he kisses her. And she is just so thrown by the fact that Michael Guerin is kissing her, that she can’t do anything but try, halfheartedly, to pull away.

And somewhere between him grabbing her and her pushing back, there is a connection that forms. It’s sloppy and quick and Liz almost thinks she imagines it. But she sees an image of an alien landscape. Burnt orange skies and rolling, pitted hills. Three moons ring the horizon. And she feels something strange at the sight.

A pull. A tug. She feels untethered. Boundless. Dangerous.

It feels familiar.

“Oh, my God!” she exclaims and pushes him away, ending the connection. “Ew!” She shudders and rushes off to class.

\--

Rath watches her go, satisfied that he at least was able to verify what he needed to. The connection he’d felt, the flashes of her as a child; it came more naturally to him than any connection he’s ever made. It was so easy, to slip into her memories, to inhabit her mind. “Epic,” he marvels to himself and retreats. He doesn’t know what it means, not yet. But he knows it means something. First, they have to get through the summit, and then he’ll come back for her.

There's something about her. From the moment he saw her picture in Max’s sock drawer, heard who she was - he was drawn to her. There is just something… he can't explain.

But he could swear he knows her. Like she’s important, like she’s more than what she is.

That would be impossible though, right?

* * *

“So you actually remember our planet?” Michael asks while they walk.

“Yes!” Max says and Michael struggles to see it too. He tries to picture the sky and water, the moons, the palace. But he can never see it. Not clearly enough. Not like what Max is describing. Except sometimes, when he first wakes up or right before he falls asleep, he thinks he remembers someone. But he's not sure who she is. He can’t see faces or people, he just feels a presence in his dreams. And he can’t help but think, maybe he knows her. She seems familiar.

And it's so frustrating, to not know his own mind. To feel like he's going insane. Because sometimes it reminds him of Liz, almost. But he knows it can't be her. It can’t be. But he still wonders.

And now that Max is remembering, Michael tries to figure out how to ask if he's seen her. It sounds crazy, he knows it does. But he just feels like it, sometimes. And if anyone would remember someone that reminded him of Liz, it should be Max.

“What are the chicks like?” he asks instead of what he really wants to ask. Because he knows he can’t ask if he remembers Liz.

“If you're not going to take this seriously…”

“I seriously wanna know what the chicks are like,” Michael says again. Because this feels like the first time he’s had this chance. He couldn’t ask Tess. But Max should know, better than him.

“It's not that literal, they're just these images. In one way I have this, this really clear feeling about everything. In another way everything seems so ephemeral. You know, uh…”

“…transient, fleeting, impermanent. I know what ephemeral means, Maxwell. It's my life.”

“Michael, I remember everyone. You, Isabel…” he trails off, watching Tess from across the hall. “For some reason Tess is the clearest.”

And he knows, Michael realizes in that instant, that Max and Liz - what he always thought as immutable (a pair, a set) - are really over. There should be no way, absolutely no way, that Max would remember his past life and not know the person that reminds Michael of Liz.

“Yeah,” he says, but he already knows Max isn’t listening anymore. He’s frustrated at himself, mostly, for thinking that Max would understand what he meant anyway. It was ridiculous.

But he just couldn’t shake the feeling. He spots Maria and Liz across the quad. They’re talking about something, deep in conversation. They don’t even notice him watching. And no matter how hard he tries to convince himself to drop it, just let it go, he still feels like he’s missing something very, very important.

* * *

Michael flips through the pages of Liz’s diary, pours over her every word. He'd stolen it to prove a point to Max. To show him what people were _really_ like. He needed to know that no matter how much he wanted her to, she would never see them as more than ‘other’. But Max was so sure. He was willing to bet his life, all of their lives on it.

But Michael wasn’t convinced. He knew better. He knew she was dangerous.

But the more he reads, the worse he feels.

She never, not once, indicates that she fears them. Even him, even when he did everything he could to intimidate her. Instead, when she writes about him sometimes, how stubborn he is, how Maria is scared of him - she always seems to do so with the point of view that he is innoxious. As if she knows better, can see through him. It’s unnerving. A stranger shouldn’t be able to understand him so well.

And he feels strange, examining his life through the lens of Liz Parker. There is no pity, no distrust, no anger. There is just her simple, unfailing compassion. She knows he feels like an outsider, even among the three of them.

She says she wants to protect them.

He reads and rereads the entries about himself. Especially the one where she came to see him at the trailer park.

 _He deserved to know_ , she wrote. _He had a right to know someone was looking for him. Max is too trusting, sometimes. He acts like Michael is crazy, but I saw that photo from Valenti. I know people are looking for them. It’s not crazy to want to protect yourself._

The entire entry is littered with these little insights about him, things he didn’t think anyone knew, let alone her.

 _Sometimes I think Max and Isabel forget how hard it must be for Michael. I asked Max how Michael ended up where he did_ , she writes later in the entry. _He said it was a long story. I didn’t want to push him, and I know it’s not really his place to tell me. But I wish I knew more. I wish Michael didn’t hate me so much. We were partners last year on an English assignment, he seemed… nice. Distracted, maybe. A little uninterested in school. But he was smart and helped when I asked. We got a B+. Why can’t he be like that again? Why is he so hostile now? Ever since Max healed me, I don’t know how to talk to him anymore. How to make him believe that I’m not a threat._

And he feels guilty because he knows she’s right. It’s the reason he stole her journal in the first place. In fact, everything he set out to prove when he stole it turned out to be wrong.

He was wrong.

More than that, he misjudged her. He misjudged what she could be to them, to him.

He has his first flash that night, of semicircles. He sees it more clearly than he ever has before. And as he reaches for a pencil and paper to draw it, Liz’s journal is still sitting on his desk, left open to the last entry she made before he stole it. It’s a sad one, about how much she misses her grandmother. And he is ashamed of what he’s done. He hasn’t proven anything. All he’s done is spy on a girl’s private thoughts. Things he has no right to know. Things he shouldn’t know.

He’d been reading it before he fell asleep. And he’s not sure if it’s because of her, because of her journal that he’s finally able to see a flash of something in his dreams. But he thinks maybe it is. Maybe it’s that calming way she seems to make him feel. Like all the anger inside him is just a little muted. Like he doesn’t have to scream to be heard. There is just something about her, her words, her presence. Even before he stole her journal, he would hang out at the Crashdown until closing.

It's weird. But he could almost swear that being around her makes it better. Makes the buzzing of power under his skin feel less intense. Something about her makes it easier to concentrate. And he realizes she’s good for him, for _them_. They’re going to need someone like her.

* * *

“I remember the first time I saw Michael,” Max said as he and Liz walked around the reservation. “It was in the desert the night we first came out of the pods. The sky was bright with stars and this full moon. Isabel and I found each other first. We didn't know how to speak, but we could communicate anyway. We walked for a while, but we could both feel someone else.”

“Michael,” Liz guessed and tried to imagine it. Picturing the little set of Max and Isabel that she’d seen in her flashes from him in the past. Max with his big eyes and Isabel with her short blonde hair. But she hadn’t known Michael when they were little. He didn’t get transferred to their school district until middle school. She wasn’t sure what he was like as a child. But she liked to think he still had crazy hair and that seemingly omnipresent frown. She tries to picture the three of them, wandering in the desert. What it must have been like for them. And something almost feels like it falls into place inside her. A clue she’d been missing, about where they came from.

“He said he saw us, but that he was afraid. So he just watched us for a long time. When he finally revealed himself, he was standing on this rock. Just like you'd expect from Michael. ‘Here I am. Deal with me,’” Max imitated and Liz smiled. It was very like Michael, she thought. “He said it was the hardest thing he's ever had to do… to trust us.” And that too, seemed an important aspect of Michael’s personality.

“So,” Lis probes as gently as she can, “how did you guys end up getting separated?”

“We all saw the headlights at the same time. Isabel took my hand. We knew we'd be safe as long as we stayed together. I held my hand out for Michael,” Max recounts the story of how they met the Evans’s and she can _hear_ how much it pains him. She can’t even imagine what it must have been like for them. “I knew he wanted to. He just wouldn't take it. So we just looked at each other for a long time.” He pauses and Liz can hear the sadness in the silence. “Wouldn't see him again for three years. Isabel would cry every night, wondering where he was.”

And there is a strange pull in her chest at his words. Like maybe she already knew the story, even without having been told. All the clues were there; the way Michael was always somehow apart, his anger, his trust issues. It makes sense. Then she remembers what he’d said when he returned her journal. That she was someone he could trust. And all of a sudden, it seems so much more important. She wishes now she’d given that declaration the proper credence it deserved. Maybe if she had, things would be different now. Maybe Michael wouldn’t resent her the way she knows he does, for getting involved in their lives. For taking Max away from him.

“You alright?” Max asks, and Liz stops walking. And there it is; that feeling. Like she’s being pulled or drawn, or led… she’s not sure. But for some reason she feels like there is a hand on the small of her back, nudging her in a certain direction. Like she has somewhere the universe wants her to be.

“Uh, yeah, it… it's just kinda sad, you know? Thinking of being separated like that.” And it’s not a lie. It had been what she’d been thinking about, mostly.

“You're wondering if it could happen to me, aren't you? If I could get sick like Michael.”

“No,” Liz says. And it’s the truth. It hadn't occurred to her. Not until Max said it. And now - that’s all she can think about. “Mm-mmm,” she tries to sound like she means it but she knows Max can tell she’s freaked out now.

* * *

Liz is drawn to them. Even when she tries to run, she doesn't get very far. Her summer in Florida is cut short when she feels sick and alone. Even surrounded by people, she is out of place. And the feeling is getting stronger. The heavy, bleak feeling that’s been haunting her since the middle of last year. That something is coming. Something bad. And she needs to be prepared when it does come.

She thought it was Tess’s arrival, at first. And when it still wouldn’t go away, she thought it was the truth about who Tess was to Max. His destiny. But it still hasn’t gone away, and she’s beginning to worry it never will.

And being away hadn’t helped. In fact, it was worse than ever by the time she got back. She felt like maybe she would get back and find nothing but a smoking crater in the ground where Roswell used to sit.

Whatever it is, whatever is coming for her (for all of them), there’s one thing she’s sure of now. She belongs here. Roswell is home. And even if she can’t be with Max, that doesn’t mean she’s just going to abandon him and the others. They needed help.

And for some strange reason she can’t quite articulate, Liz feels like they need _her_ , specifically.

If only she knew why…

* * *

And so it goes. From one timeline to the next. In every universe, on every world, Liz plants the seeds of her genesis. Even in worlds where she doesn’t know any of them. So long as the Granolith exists, so too does she. And she spreads herself out, like pollen drifting in the wind.

She will germinate and grow. Again and again and again. Until she has dispersed herself across the whole of the multiverse. Until she is satisfied that she has constructed an inescapable path.

It’s a trail, leading back here. To this time. To this decision. No matter what happens, she will always end up right here - molding herself into the Granolith to restore the timeline.

Once she’s done, she takes a yawning breath and exhales whatever light is left inside her, leaving her empty. She is once again Liz Parker. Then the darkness comes. It swallows her whole. And for a moment, she is lost to it. Finally, it’s Michael’s voice that brings her back.

“Please, Liz,” Michael begs. And she can just barely see him in the dark.

“It is done,” she tells him and she could swear he weeps.

“You're an idiot, you know that? You could have torn yourself apart. You could have ceased to exist in every universe.”

“I would have seen,” she says and feels cold. She misses the light, the power. She feels small without it.

“You're not omnipotent just because you can see the future,” he admonishes her.

But he's wrong. How does she explain it to him? “It's not precognition,” she says. “My visions. They aren't psychic. They’re physics.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I traveled through time and space. There’s no universe I haven’t touched. Don’t you see?” she asks, but he doesn’t. Not yet. “They aren’t premonitions. They are memories, from this place. It's déjà vu.” She doesn't even know how she knows. She just does. “I can See because of what I am. It's how I could reach Max in New York. Not because he healed me. But because I can move in ways you can’t.”

“Because you're the Granolith?” He asks and Liz can sense the hesitation at the admission. As if saying it would make it more real, in some way.

“In every world, in every universe, I am present.”

“What if Max hadn't healed you? What if he stopped the gunman? What if he didn't go back in time the first time? That's what caused the first rift - the one you were trapped in,” he points out, but he's wrong.

“There’s always another path,” she says and touches his temple.

* * *

EARTH 2016 (ALTERNATE TIMELINE)

Together they are transported to a timeline Michael doesn't remember. Though, he’s sure he’s been here. It was just one of the ones he passed through with little recognition.

In this world, he and Liz are lying in bed.

And it’s a strange feeling, being both himself and someone else. He remembers this life, or snippets of it. He knows he’s in love with Liz. He knows they’ve been together for years. He knows they’re happy. But he also knows this is only temporary. He knows he’s really stuck in the void, watching Liz turn herself into an all-powerful _thing_.

“Michael?” she asks softly, getting his attention. And he wonders if it’s this timeline’s Liz or the other one.

“Yeah?” he asks, looking over at her.

“Kiss me,” she says and he doesn’t have to think twice about it. Both Michael’s are in sync at her request.

He leans in and presses his lips to hers. Soft and chaste at first. It’s just a good morning kiss. But then she slides closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and he can’t help but deepen it.

He rolls her onto her back and settles between her legs, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And for this timeline’s Michael - it is. This is nothing new. But for the other Michael, for the one who can still remember what it felt like to watch her die in the Granolith chamber, this is brand new.

The feel of her pressed against him. The way she wraps her legs around his waist. The way she rolls her head back and moans when he grinds himself against her. He’s never done this, not with her.

But he knows he’s done this before. That’s why, when her skin starts to iridesce where he touches her, he’s not surprised. He knows it’s normal. And yet, it’s still completely mesmerizing.

So he lets the memories take over. The ones he knows are there. The ones that tell him she likes to be touched. The ones that instruct him how much pressure to use when he pinches her nipples in his fingers. The ones that demand she come first.

And it’s incredible, the way she reacts to him. The way she moans ‘yes’ and ‘oh god’ when he slides a finger inside her is like nothing else he’s ever experienced before. The way she rises up off the bed, into his thrusting hand; he could swear it was real.

Because this _is_ real. This is happening.

He’s going to fuck Liz Parker.

\--

“I never thought I’d be doing this,” Michael pants as his fingers moves furiously in and out of her.

And she knows that’s the Michael that came with her from the void. But the Michael from this timeline knows exactly what to do to make her come. He pumps his hand, letting the heel of his palm slam into her clit and she can feel it building inside her. Like reaching for a ledge, she has this feeling of ‘almost, almost, almost.’

And when it happens, when she slips, her eyes pinch shut and she cries, “Fuck.”

But unlike Michael who seems to be having trouble with keeping himself separate from the body he’s inhabiting, Liz allows the memories to flow through her easily. Like a gentle stream. So it’s not jarring when he leans in to kiss her and she can feel his bare erection on her thigh.

No, she’s expecting it. She craves it.

She takes hold of him with one hand, and using the other to touch herself, she guides him inside her.

“Oh, fuck,” he grunts and buries his head in her shoulder.

And together, they move. He pushes and she arches and they both find the same rhythm so effortlessly, she knows they’ve done this before.

But he also feels new. The way he thrusts into her is so unlike what this body is used to. There is an unbridled enthusiasm that fascinates her. The way he leans back and takes her hips in each hand and bucks into her is almost feverish.

“It lasts a long time,” she warns because she can tell he’s getting close.

“I know,” he grunts as he keeps thrusting. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses as he begins to lose control. His fingers are indenting the skin on her hips, and he’s driving himself so far inside her, she can feel his pelvis hit her clit. It’s not enough to make her orgasm again, but just enough to make her vocalize on impact. Little puffs of ‘ah ah ah’ that she knows he likes. He likes it when she’s loud.

And that seems to do it. Because a few seconds later, he’s curling around her, digging his knees underneath her and arching his back. His blunt teeth are pressed firmly into the skin of her neck when he comes.

And she can feel it, the hot electric energy coursing through him; it makes his skin so hot. She’s seen it before, of course. But for part of her, this is a new experience. His whole body goes slack, and she has to roll him off of her. She knows from her memories that he’ll be like that for about an hour. Lost in the ‘sensation of floating on an electric cloud,’ as he had described it to her once.

Sometimes she’s envious. She wishes she could feel what he does. And she knows she has, sort of. In flashes she’s had, she’s felt what it’s like. But it’s not the same. The vision are always in short blips, just fragments of memories. And the feelings are always kind of… grainy. Like there’s something in the way.

* * *

In a few hours, the Skins will come. They won’t be ready. They’ll scramble for the Granolith as a last resort. They intend to use it as a ship, to escape. But it’s damaged in an explosion and when they try to take off, a rift will form. And Liz will be lost from time yet again.

She knows all of this and while she wishes she could let him stay as he is - happy and untouched by tragedy - she brought him here so he could see. See that no matter what universe they are in, she will always return to the Granolith.

So she pulls him from the bliss of his orgasm and compresses the rest of her into a few moments of images so that he can understand.

They are torn from the timeline so forcefully, Michael feels like he’s been ripped in half. He buckles over in pain, grabbing his sides, as if pressure alone could hold himself together.[15]

“You see?” she asks and he’s still trying to breathe through the pain. “No matter what the impetus, I will always return here.”

And it all just feels so cruel. No matter what they do, it always ends in death. Her or him or both of them. Always, someone dies young.

There is no happy ending.

\--

“What do we do now?” Michael asks and Liz thinks it’s funny, the way he insists on differentiating now vs then. Time is nothing but a construct. Even in her reduced state, she understands that to try to process the void with human understanding will do nothing for them.

“We could stay,” she says, skimming her fingers off the darkness that surrounds it. She feels it ripple under the pressure of her touch.

“In the void?” He sounds distressed.

“Or we could leave. Pick a time, inhabit ourselves, hope for the best.” She shrugs. “Either is acceptable.”

“Can you still See?” he asks and she thinks maybe he's beautiful. She thinks maybe she's in love with him. Because she knows what he's going to ask before she even responds.

“Yes.”

“Is there any peace? Any world where we’re not hunted? Where we don't get killed? Where we both die old and happy?”

“And together?” She smiles, touching his face and filled with a serene tenderness.

“Either way. Just as long as we’re happy.”

“There are a few,” she confirms. “Not the majority. But it is possible.”

“Then you pick,” he says softly. “I trust you.”

And Liz feels the ghost of the Granolith rattle to life inside the cage of her ribs. “Take my hand,” she says and offers it to him. He takes it without hesitation, and together they move. Not like flying or falling. More like they are a fixed point, and space is shifting around them.

They are dropped into the bodies of Liz Parker and Michael Guerin in a world where the sky is blue and the air is dry and hot. They are young, not children but still on the cusp of being adults.

In this universe, Liz was never shot. Her parents never owned the Crashdown. But when she was attacked by mysterious crystals in Fraser Woods during high school, it was Michael who saved her. She’d been out taking soil samples for a science project when the ground beneath her gave way. Her ankle was broken and she was trapped.

Meanwhile, Max and Tess went after the Queen Gandarium, who was targeting a descendant of Tess’s host. Michael and Isabel tracked the rest of the infestation to the woods. And when Max killed the Queen, Michael was the one who pulled Liz out of the cave.

She had blue lips and barely any pulse. She had burned through nearly all the oxygen in the small cave before she was rescued. And it was Michael who healed her. He wasn’t as good at it as Max was, but without the trauma of Hank and the baggage of being left behind, he didn’t have the same kind of block he did in other universes.

He told her he’d found her in the woods. He said she’d passed out and he’d given her CPR while he carried her back to the main road. He waited with her until her father came to pick her up. She didn’t think anything of it. Not until she got home that night, after leaving the hospital with her ankle in a cast, and she got changed into her pajamas.

She watched, in horror, as a silver handprint seemed to come to life on her chest, right over her heart.

* * *

“What did you do to me!?” she demands the next day, cornering Michael in the eraser room before first period.

“What’re you talking about?”

 “This, Michael!” she hisses and yanks the collar of her shirt down far enough to expose the silver fingers of the handprint.

“What is that?” he asks, but this time she sees fear in his eyes.

“It’s your hand!” she insists, pulling the cups of her bra just aside enough to make out most of the hand without flashing him. “Why is your handprint on my chest? What did you do to me out there in the woods?” she asks, and all the anger seems to have evaporated in the wake of the way he’s staring at her. Like he’s terrified. Which makes her feel terrified too.

“I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know it’d do that,” he confesses.

“What happened? Why doesn’t my chest hurt?”

“Why would it hurt?”

“If you’d given me CPR I’d be all bruised and sore. Starting someone’s heart is really hard. The nurse said you must have just barely started compressions when I came around, that’s the only way she could explain it. But I heard you tell my dad that it was longer than that. And this isn’t paint, it doesn’t wipe off. It wasn’t there until last night. Why didn’t it show up at the hospital?” She asks a million questions in rapid succession, not even waiting for him to answer. “Please, don’t lie to me,” she adds, because she can already see him trying to think of a way out of it.

But when he realizes she’s not going to believe anything less than the truth, he sighs. “Fine,” he says, running his hands through his hair, messing up the spikes. “But you can’t tell anyone.”

“Fine,” she says, trying not to roll her eyes.

“No, I’m serious, Parker. You gotta promise. Not your parents, not your friends, not your overachiever's support group, not your therapist or your dog--”

“I don’t even have a dog,” she says agitatedly.

“So that was a ‘yes’ on the overachievers anonymous then?”

“Michael!” she snaps.

“Okay, okay. But I’m serious. If you tell anyone, I could be in a lot of danger. The only reason no one’s looking for us is because we have rules. I broke those rule when I healed you, and I’m breaking them now by telling you. I’m putting my life in danger, my family’s life in danger. So I need to know that I can trust you. That you won’t go blabbing to that hippy-dippy friend of yours. I cannot be more serious.”

And she believes him. Not that his life would be in danger, maybe not that far. But that this is something she can’t talk about. Even to Maria and Alex. “Okay,” she nods. “I swear.”

“Okay,” he says and takes a deep breath. “You weren’t breathing, your face was all blue, and Isabel said you had no pulse. So I healed you.”

“You… healed me?” she asks, very slowly because she’s trying very hard not to laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know, which is why I _lied_ ,” he says, drawing out the word ‘lied’ with as much scorn as he can. “You were dying!” he nearly yells. And for the first time, she doesn’t think it’s funny. What he’s saying, the way he looks at her when he says it; something isn’t right. This feels too… real.

She shakes her head and takes a cautious step back. “You’re lying.”

“I’m really not.”

“No, you are. You’re trying to trick me. Or scare me or something.” She backs up one more step and her backpack hits the door. Nowhere left to go. She feels like the walls are closing in on her. Like she can’t breathe.

What has he done to her? Why can’t she breathe?

“Calm down,” he says and she can barely hear him. “You’re gonna pass out,” he insists. “Breathe, Parker. You need to breathe.”

“Can’t,” she wheezes.

“Look at me,” he says, trying to draw her focus. But her eyes dart away. She feels trapped. She needs an escape. Now, now, now. She needs to get out of here. “Liz,” he says her name and for some reason that grabs her attention. “You need breathe.”

“I can’t,” she says obstinately.

“You already sound better,” he points out, and she realizes he’s right.

After a few more seconds, she feels like she can breathe normally again. And once she’s composed herself enough, she looks him dead in the eyes and asks, “How?”

“Because I’m not human,” he says slowly, like he’s worried she’s going to have another panic attack. She’s not sure he’s wrong, but it’s still annoying. She doesn’t like being treated like she’s breakable.

“I guessed that part,” she fires back and crosses her arms.

“Jeez, Parker. Way to take the mystery out of it.”

“Yeah, I get it. I’m a wet blanket. Now, explain,” she insists and tugs on her collar just enough to remind him why she’s drilling him.

“I’m an alien. A hybrid, actually.”

“Alien? Really? In Roswell?” She gives him her best vacant expression. A lifetime of alien jokes have left her immune to things like this. This is at least the fourth time in her life someone has tried to convince her they were an alien. “I’m so surprised. I mean, what are the odds?” she says sarcastically.

“Think about it, Miss Smarty Pants,” he snaps. “What are the odds? You’re smart. You know this town’s history better than most. And you know what I did to you. So you tell me… what _are_ the odds?”

And she wants to yell at him that this isn’t funny. She wants to be angry. But she’s too busy thinking about what he’s said. She knows something unexplainable happened to her. She knows it was him who was responsible. She knows plenty of other weird things have happened in this town. And, for some reason, what he’s saying is starting to make an alarming amount of sense.

“But… there’s no such thing as aliens,” she feels compelled to point out.

“Do you really believe that?” He raises one eyebrow at her and she hates it because she knows he’s right.

“Well, statistically speaking--”

“I’m an alien.”

“But--”

“Beam me up,” he jokes.

“But--”

“Take me to your leader.”

“Michael!” she finally snaps. “This is serious!”

“And so am I. I’m an alien and I healed you.”

“But… how?” she asks, and this, more than anything else, is what she wants to know.

“I can manipulate molecules,” he says, but he doesn’t sound so sure.

“I’m a little surprised you even know what a molecule is,” she baits him.

“Ha ha, very funny. Not all of us can be the teacher’s pet, now can we? I knew enough about molecules to oxygenate your blood and stop you from turning into a human paperweight.”

“Jesus,” she exclaims because the visual image of her body going all stiff and rigid makes her recoil.

“Sorry,” he apologizes and she can see he means it. He took it too far. But she’d been messing with him too, so she’s not really upset. “I just meant, I know more than you think I do.”

“I can see that,” she admits and it’s almost sad. How much better would he be in school if he tried?

“You should be careful,” he warns after a second of thought. “Those crystals are dangerous. So don’t go out into the woods again, okay?”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” she agrees readily.

“I still don’t know why they went after you though,” he shakes his head. “You don’t have anything to do with us. There has to be a connection.”

“Maybe I was just the only person around?” she says. Normal people didn’t trek through the woods on Thursday afternoons looking for soil sampling locations. She’s accepted that about herself.

“I guess,” he says but she doesn’t really believe it. He still thinks there’s another explanation. But he doesn’t push it.

The bell rings for first period and Liz looks surprised. She hadn’t realized they spent so much time in here. People were going to talk.

“I should go,” she says but for some reason, she doesn’t really want to. She wants to stay. She wants to hear about crystals and hybridization of human DNA, and space travel. She has so many questions. More than she knows how to prioritize. But there’s one question that seems more important than the rest. And she knows she won’t be able to leave until she asks. “Why did you do it? If it was so risky? If it was such a violation, why do it?”

“What was I supposed to do?” he shrugs. “Let you die?”

“No, I just mean…” she says softly. “It couldn’t have been an easy decision. So… thanks,” she mumbles, looking away so he won’t see her blushing. She turns to leave when his voice stops her.

“Actually, it was the easiest decision I’ve ever made.”

She leaves without looking back. She’s not sure she wants to see what his face looks like after he’s confessed something like that.

\--

She tries to talk to him again the next day. But they get interrupted, and they’ve never run in the same circles so trying to make it look casual is difficult. Then, about a week later, he doesn’t show up to school. Neither does Isabel or Max or Tess. They’re all just… gone. At first Liz is worried something happened. Maybe someone found out. Maybe they came for them. Maybe they're going to come for her next.

So she asks around and everyone just says they’ve moved. Which Liz thinks is ridiculous, because why would three separate families move away together? In fact, she’s already formulating a plan on how to get some information out of their real estate agent when her mom hands her a letter.

There’s no postmark, just her name scrawled on the envelope.

 _It’s safer this way,_ the letter says. And Liz realizes it must be Michael’s handwriting. _We’re okay, you’re safe. It’s just better if we move around. - M._

And that seems to be the end of that.

* * *

Liz wouldn’t see him again for four years. And when she does, it will be from across the room at a college party. Liz goes to humor Maria who begs for some ‘distraction’ after a recent breakup. Michael goes because his roommate needs a designated driver.

And when they do meet again, there is no Nessado. There is no plot to return to Antar. There are no Dupes. Tess is as she should have always been, loyal and steadfastly in love with Max. Isabel comes to terms with her past betrayal and rejects her destiny. In this world, Kivar’s rule is not bloody. He was the much needed reform Antar is grateful for. Their hybridization was a legacy failsafe that no one sought to correct.

The Granolith sits, unused and forgotten.

There is no impending war. No one is hunting them.

And in two years, three months, and six days they will find each other again.

For the last time.

But for now, they are dropped into their bodies and stuck with the chore of relearning who they are.

* * *

Michael opens his eyes and feels his memories leaking out, slowly being replaced by the Michael of this timeline. He has precious few seconds to try to retain what he can. He’s not sure how though; even as he tries to scheme up a way, he can feel himself losing more and more information.

Desperately, he runs to the mirror by the door.

“Liz Parker. You have to find Liz. Protect her. She’s the most important person in the whole world. In every world. You have to find Liz Parker. Find her, and don’t let go.”

“Don’t let go of who?” his college roommate, Waheed, asks from the doorway. His hand is still on the doorknob to their room, and he’s looking at Michael like he’s crazy.

“What?” he asks.

“You were just saying something to yourself in the mirror. You said you had to find someone.”

“No…” Michael shakes his head. He’d just been playing a game and… he turns back to the TV but it’s gone back to the loading screen already. He didn’t even remember dying. “I’m not sure.”

“Easy on the day drinking there, chief,” he jokes and Michael rolls his eyes.

But his heart is still beating faster than it should be. And he feels like he should be worried. He feels like he should be panicked. But he can’t imagine why. He takes a few deep breaths and tries to let the feeling pass.

\--

Liz slips into the skin of her alternate self right in the middle of working on a project. Rather than trying to hold on to everything, as Michael had done, she focuses on one thing. Just one. And she knows the rest will fall into place.

“Granolith,” she says aloud, her pen still hanging from her fingers. She stops mid-note. “Granolith, Granolith, Granolith,” she repeats. Even as everything else is stripped away, she holds onto it for as long as she can. Longer even than she can remember why she’s saying it. “Granolith, Granolith, Granolith.” She drills it into her brain. A message that will someday unlock the memories that cannot yet fit inside her.

* * *

Because someday she will visit the Granolith. It will call to her; it will guide them both back to its Hold, deep in the rock formations outside sleepy Roswell. Down an unmarked dirt road that only locals know about. She will go with Michael. And together, they will unravel the mystery of why they are so drawn to each other in this world. Why they seemed almost destined.

Because in this world, the Granolith has only ever been a religious relic. Valued for its ability to grant the user visions of other worlds. Past lives, future events, alternate realities… they all exist inside it.

So when they do finally visit, the feeling of coming home they both feel but don’t say gets stronger with each step they take. As if they’ve done this before. As if they’ve done this hundreds of times.

And finally, _finally_ , once Liz has seen into the heart of it, does she remember where they came from.

“I found you,” she says through tears she can’t seem to stop. And her heart is so full, she fears it may burst.

“I knew you would,” he says and kisses her breathless.

They are home.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> CREDITS:
> 
>   * Transcripts: [http://transcripts.foreverdreaming.org/viewtopic.php?f=27&t=4464](http://transcripts.foreverdreaming.org/viewtopic.php?f=27&t=4464)
> 

> 
>  
> 
> [1] <http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/post/150238096681>
> 
> [2] <http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/post/155385594941>
> 
> [3] <http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/post/155378856313>
> 
> [4] <http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/post/155392078172>
> 
> [5] <http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/post/155373653342>
> 
> [6] <http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/post/141062431165>
> 
> [7] <http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/post/134128154990>
> 
> [8] <http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/post/134207769416>
> 
> [9] <http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/post/132635920231>
> 
> [10] Dialog and concept adapted from Doctor Who. Original dialog can be found here: <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0563000/quotes>
> 
> [11] <http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/post/155392747882>
> 
> [12] <http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/post/132406136127>
> 
> [13] <http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/post/155392823177>
> 
> [14] <http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/post/155382794318>
> 
> [15] <http://rosweldrmr.tumblr.com/post/116690953422>


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